


what it means to feel starved

by tostitos



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, First Time, Forbidden Love, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Porn With Plot, Rich Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung, Secret Relationship, gardener johnny, its not a modern setting but idk what time it takes place in basically, kind of???, mentions of past dotae and dowoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:47:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25084873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tostitos/pseuds/tostitos
Summary: Stuck home for the summer, Doyoung struggles to keep himself busy with nothing but his books and art supplies. When his mother hires a new gardener, he thinks little of the man until he realizes that every time he sees the man, Youngho looks more and more like the taste his tongue seems to be craving all of a sudden.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 22
Kudos: 336





	what it means to feel starved

**Author's Note:**

> imagine how i felt when i saw someone else post a gardener/rich boy johndo that seemed wholesome and then i looked at this shitbag in my wips and was like 🤡🤡🤡 time to throw it away
> 
> i don’t say this explicitly in the fic but doyoung is 18 and johnny is 20

“Yoonoh?” Doyoung calls from his perch upon the soft cream cushions of the antique storage bench sat beneath the sill of the grand, bay window in the sitting room. He doesn’t lift his chin from his palm, his elbow holding his arm propped up on the sill.

“Yes, Young Master?” Yoonoh looks up from the book in his lap, one of Doyoung’s own readings for his literature course.

Doyoung doesn’t quite like the formalities between them — it’s Yoonoh’s mother that is employed by his family, not him — but Yoonoh insists on maintaining a proper distance and he has learned to accept it.

Sitting down the text, Yoonoh comes to stand at Doyoung’s side, just on the cusp of his peripherals.

With his other hand, Doyoung points at the man standing at the edge of the yard, speaking with the head butler. “Would you happen to know who that is?”

“That would be the new gardener.”

Doyoung hums in mild surprise. “What happened to the last one?”

He never spoke with the man, never spoke with many of the staff because his mother never misses a chance to point out how unbecoming it is, but he seemed to be in good health for his middle age.

Yoonoh glances down at him with a frown. “It seems he saved enough money to relocate closer to the city with his wife.”

Probably to escape the extravagant demands of Doyoung’s terribly bored mother. He doesn’t blame him for leaving; he would do so if he could, but alas, he is still half a year from the promise of university out in the city.

Nodding, Doyoung allows Yoonoh to return to his reading, continuing to watch the stranger. From the window, he looks rather young, but Doyoung supposes that is for the best considering the summer season and the size of their estate. It is a bit of a surprise, though, if only because his parents believe there is no bigger indication of experience and skill than wisened age.

But that has nothing to do with Doyoung, and he doesn’t imagine treating this man any differently than the last gardener.

Sighing, Doyoung turns away from the window and glances down at the sketchbook laid forgotten in his lap. He picks up his pencil to continue sketching the sitting room.

  


Doyoung first gets a proper glimpse of the new gardener a few days later while sitting in the gazebo. His book goes forgotten as the man approaches with arms exposed from the shoulder down and skin sun-kissed and shining with perspiration. He’s tall and so incredibly broad with muscle that would suggest this isn’t his first time doing labor.

The man doesn’t hesitate when he notices Doyoung sitting within the looping metal house that is the gazebo, offering up a smile that snatches Doyoung’s breath from his throat. “Good afternoon,” he greets, simple and without formality.

Friendly.

Blinking, Doyoung nods back stiffly. He cannot bring himself to speak to the man, oddly timid and struck speechless by the fluttering in his stomach. It’s very foreign, this mixed feeling of discomfort and awe. In some way, it feels like hunger — that light, starved kind of ache.

The new gardener doesn’t seem to be bothered any by the dull response, commenting on the heat and the health of the white roses arranged around the perimeter of the gazebo as he waters them. As fast as he seemed to appear, he leaves just as quickly to tend to the other flowers in the yard and it’s only until he’s far enough that the way the sunlight hits the perspiration on his skin doesn’t make him glitter, does Doyoung return to his book.

Being from the family that he is, Doyoung has never known hunger and he’s not sure if he want to experience it even figuratively. Yet, the thing about hunger is that there is no stopping a craving, and there’s something about that carefree smile, so nonplussed by their differences in status, that leaves Doyoung wanting something he can’t figure out.

  


“What’s your name?” Doyoung asks the next time he sees the gardener, once again sitting in the gazebo with a book in his hands. It takes him a while to work up the nerve, so unused to talking to anyone who isn’t Yoonoh or his mom or some of the maids, but he doesn’t regret it as he should.

Conversing with the help outside of making orders is not something his parents encourage. Yoonoh is the exception because his mother has worked for the Kim’s for nearly his entire life, but even then their relationship is not one that truly breaks the boundaries of their roles as young master and cook’s son.

“Youngho,” the man answers as he tends to the weeds sprouting amongst the roses, grinning up at the younger boy. “And may I have yours?” He speaks with a slow, mild country drawl as he drops his sheers to the grass and stands.

Doyoung blushes a faint pink when Youngho folds his arms along the top rung of the gazebo’s fence. He draws his bottom lip into his mouth as his eyes catch on the muscles of Youngho’s upper arms flexing and shifting. “Doyoung,” he introduces with none of the confidence his higher status should bring.

It makes him feel foolish, mostly because he knows his mother would not have allowed this man to work without teaching him how to address everyone in the family, and yet he’s turning shy in the face of a question the gardener surely already knows the answer to.

Youngho nods and tests the name out on his tongue. “Please to meet you, Doyoung.”

Feigning great interest in his book, Doyoung only answers with a hum and soon enough Youngho returns to work. The sound of his name in Youngho’s unrefined accent bounces around in his head along with the steady beating of his heart.

No one who is not either of his parents call him by his name without an additional title. It’s outrageous for a boy of his status to feel so mousy about this display of discourtesy, but the thundering of Doyoung’s pulse is much stronger than any sense of ego.

Resisting the urge to fan his face, Doyoung holds his book up under his nose. He spends more time looking above the pages at Youngho’s back as he works than he does down at the words, but he’s not very fond of this text in the first place.

  


Youngho comes a few times a week to tend to the land of the spacious Westbrook Kim estate. When he doesn’t have summer lessons and can escape the hawkish glare of his mother, Doyoung wanders the grounds and feigns horrible boredom and restlessness as an excuse to observe the man while he works. Youngho is nice company, accepting his presence with a smile and familiarity.

He wouldn’t say he’s _pining_ over the gardener, but he can’t deny that he does feel attracted to him in a way that he’s never experienced before. There have been boys before who Doyoung has shared kisses with in empty lecture rooms like Jungwoo of the other Kim family or Taeyong Lee, but none who have invaded Doyoung’s thoughts even when he’s laying down to sleep—

—who have made Doyoung reconsider his mother’s lessons of purity until matrimony.

“Aren’t you hot?” Doyoung asks after Youngho finishes cutting half of the yard, sitting on the steps of the veranda.

Youngho laughs as he leans against the rustic, wooden handrail. “Yeah, but you get used to it.”

Groaning, Doyoung breaks decorum to lift the hem of his shirt and wipe at the sweat accumulating on his brow. There’s a handkerchief in his pocket, but he’s been striving to seem less uppity around a man who could care less about such etiquette.

“I feel disgusting and I’m not even doing anything.”

When he lowers his shirt, he’s met with the peculiar sight of a flushed Youngho looking off to the side with wide eyes. Doyoung turns to follow his gaze but there is nothing to see. “What?”

Youngho shakes his head and waves his hands, appearing to be, for some reason, uncomfortable. “Nothing. I just thought you would appreciate some semblance of privacy.”

“Privacy?” Doyoung repeats, not understanding.

“When you...” Youngho raises his arm, mimicking lifting his shirt.

Doyoung himself reddens, embarrassed to have unintentionally pulled this reaction from the other man. “I thought you would not care about a little bit of exposure.”

“I don’t, but you’re so—“ Youngho cuts himself off, cheeks staining like he’s rubbed them against the rose petals.

“I’m so...”

There is no mistaking the look Youngho gives him, so thoroughly head to toe that Doyoung feels even more exposed than he did a second ago wiping at his face. The sun’s rays are always uncomfortably hot, but Youngho’s gaze is like fire licking at the hairs of Doyoung’s arms.

Suddenly clearing his throat, Youngho shakes his head again. “Maybe...maybe you should go inside and wash up,” he suggests, turning his back to Doyoung as he wipe his hands on the front of his shorts. “I still have to finish in the gardens and it might take a while.”

Just the thought of being comfortable and clean causes Doyoung to moan quietly. “Yes, a bath sounds wonderful. But,” Youngho glances over his shoulder at him when he pauses, “...I’d hate to leave you out in the heat. Surely you could afford a proper break. My parents are out, you know.”

Youngho freezes, every exposed muscle in his body pulling taut. “Doyoung, you’re...what you’re suggesting is hardly appropriate.”

Doyoung blinks. “What isn’t appropriate?”

“You...” Youngho swallows thickly, the apple in his throat bobbing hard. “You asking me to join you?”

Understanding hits Doyoung hard, bringing with it half-drawn images of what Youngho looks like beneath the form fitting, black sleeveless shirts and loose, khaki pants as well as blooming fantasies about how his worked palms will feel on Doyoung’s untouched skin.

Yes, Doyoung thinks, he is in near desperate need of a cooling bath.

“I-I meant that maybe you could simply come inside the house. To have a glass of water in the kitchens,” he explains slowly, wanting to fidget away the tossing butterflies in his gut but forcing himself to remain still.

A vivid cross between horror and embarrassment crosses Youngho’s face and he stutters over what to say, so unlike the man of unshakable confidence Doyoung has come to know.

It’s quite endearing.

“But I wouldn’t so mind if you wished to follow me upstairs and my parents wouldn’t have to know,” Doyoung says as he stands, offering the older man a demure smile. “I am not so unaccommodating as to deny you whatever you’d like, within reason.”

A shiver climbs up his spine as he catches the shadow of desire that creeps back into Youngho’s gaze before he regains himself.

“Go inside, Doyoung.” Youngho sighs as he closes his eyes and pushes sweat damp locks off his brow.

“Don’t overwork in this heat. The door is open for you,” Doyoung says before he goes.

  


That night, Doyoung lies in bed, hand wrapped tight around himself with a timid finger teasing his virgin hole, and he imagines he wouldn’t mind being sticky with sweat if Youngho was the reason why. There’s a bottle of lubricant that he asked Jungwoo to buy him before the other Kim left for his orchestra camp for the summer, but he only uses it to tease. Perhaps he’s the naive romantic his mother raised, only wanting that part of himself to be for someone else. Or maybe he wants so bad he doesn’t think himself enough to scratch the itch between his legs.

Stroking himself in steady pulls and rubbing firm over the sensitive spot behind his testicles, pressing just enough at his hole for the resistance to give the slightest bit, Doyoung thinks about Youngho — about how his warm, labor worn hands would feel caressing his thighs, about how his expansive chest would fit against Doyoung’s back, about how his soft, full mouth would suck at the flushed skin of Doyoung’s neck as he took Doyoung here in this bed. Or maybe in his bath, over and over until the water went cold. Or maybe in the gazebo, where this attraction began, right in the face of his mother’s precious white roses.

Doyoung comes into his hand quickly with Youngho’s name on his lips, a small gasp hidden in the cotton of his pillow.

  


The thing about Youngho that Doyoung thinks he’s adores the most is how he wears his heart on his sleeve. He can see the love in Youngho’s eyes when he speaks of his family back out in the far south, can see the drive when he talks about wanting to make enough money to attend university so he can find a proper job and provide for them. He’s open and honest and has the foundations of a great man despite only being two years older than Doyoung.

He makes Doyoung feel like any other boy, not like the prim and highbrow thing he’s expected to be. It’s nice to not have to think about appearances, to be able to be just Doyoung and not worry about being judged for every small thing.

  


Apparently distressingly dissatisfied with the square shape of the boxwood hedges, Doyoung’s mother requested Youngho to round them out. He’s been working at them for the last hour or so and Doyoung has been sitting out on the veranda for about as long, sketching idly.

Youngho drops his sheers and pulls the hand towel tucked into the waistband of his pants out to wipe at his forehead. He glances toward the house and shoots Doyoung a charming smile when they lock eyes, his perverted assumption from the week before all but ignored.

Doyoung smiles lightly, biting into his bottom lip to keep it from spreading too wide. He looks back down at his drawing of the lemonade pitcher on the table in front of him and shades in the peel of the lemons sitting at the bottom. His mother is out on the veranda as well, and it would be unbecoming to look for too long.

“Pardon me, Young Master,” Yoonoh says in a quiet voice, sitting at his side, “but you appear to be quite taken.”

Doyoung presses down too hard on his sketch pad, chipping the end of his pencil. Color begins to creep into his cheeks as he glances up at the other boy.

“I’m sorry?”

Yoonoh is deferent as always, not showing any kind of expression besides loyal patience. Doyoung usually doesn’t care for that, wishes he was a little more open, but with his mother just on the other end of the veranda and always aware of what Doyoung is doing even when she’s not looking at him, he’s thankful.

“He is handsome,” Yoonoh mumbles, sparing a glance at the plate of mini brownie squares in front of him.

Doyoung motions for him to take one as desired.

Yoonoh picks one of the tiny desserts. “I didn’t imagine a man like him would catch your interest,” he says before putting the soft cookie in his mouth.

“What do you mean?”

“I thought you were into...gentler people.” In the silence when Doyoung tries to figure out what he means, Yoonoh continues. “You had something with Taeyong Lee last year, didn’t you?”

Doyoung’s breath catches and he quickly glances over his shoulder at where his mother is pretending to flip through a magazine while she scrutinizes Youngho. He looks back at Yoonoh with wide eyes. “How did you know that?” When the cook’s son starts to open his mouth again, he holds up a hand. “Do not answer that.”

Sighing, he reaches for his eraser and works on fixing the line he scribbled when Yoonoh spoke up. “I suppose it would seem as though that’s what I like when it’s the only thing I’m surrounded by,” is all he says.

Yoonoh takes in his words with the same unmoving expression on his face, humming to himself.

  


Youngho glances back when Doyoung pushes open the door leading to the veranda and gives a small laugh. “Thought you weren’t coming today.”

Doyoung huffs, turning up his nose. “I don’t come outside every time you’re here,” he says as he walks over to the stairs where Youngho is resting and sits as well.

He sets down the bowl of cut fruit he asked for in the space between them.

“You could have fooled me,” Youngho jokes.

Doyoung fakes a glare and pokes at a square of cantaloupe. He lifts the fork to Youngho’s mouth and pushes it at his lips. “Use your mouth for something other than teasing me.”

Still grinning, Youngho parts his lips and accepts the fruit. “Thank you,” he says around it, so uncaring of if it’s bad manners. “Though I guess I should be the one feeding you.”

Just the thought makes Doyoung’s heart skip. “Why do you say that?”

Youngho takes a second to swallow. “Because you’re just like a little prince. Can’t let you use those pretty fingers to wait on someone like me.”

Doyoung brushes off the little prince comment and frowns at Youngho. “‘Someone like you’? An honest man who always has something to genuinely laugh about? Who works harder than anyone who lives here and with much more integrity? I’d do a lot more with these fingers than feed you some fruit, Youngho.”

Immediately, Doyoung worries that he’s said too much. It doesn’t help that Youngho’s light smile has been completely wiped off his face but he doesn’t want to apologize, not when he hasn’t said anything wrong.

Youngho squeezes his eyes shut and sucks in a long breath. “God, you’re too good for me,” he says under an exhale, blinking dark eyes open again.

Doyoung doesn’t have a second to question that statement before Youngho’s hand is warm against his cheek and his mouth is soft against Doyoung’s own. The kiss is chaste, but he feels stripped down to nothing, heart brought up from inside his chest to where Youngho can taste it on his lips. He reaches up to wrap his hands around Youngho's neck and pull him closer, letting out a meek sound when Youngho presses harder against his mouth.

If they were the only two people around, he'd search for the sweet taste of cantaloupe on Youngho’s tongue, but he remembers they're on the veranda in late afternoon, where his parents or any of the house staff can walk out the door at any time.

He pulls away with reluctance, slow to drag his hands away from Youngho’s neck when the older man is still staring at his mouth under heavy lids.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” Youngho says under his breath. Doyoung would complain, but there’s no regret in Youngho’s voice.

“But you did,” Doyoung returns, equally as quiet.

Youngho nods. “I did.”

“Would you do it again?”

“I would.”

Doyoung glances behind them at the closed door leading inside. A part of him wants to chance it, but when he turns back around, there’s the tip of a strawberry at his mouth.

He blinks up at Youngho who smiles at him sweetly.

“If I get you in trouble, I won’t be able to see you,” says Youngho, urging Doyoung to bite. “Another time.”

Nodding, Doyoung parts his lips and lets himself be fed. Youngho drops the leaf into the bowl and reaches back up catch the bit of juice at the corner of Doyoung’s mouth with his thumb.

“So messy,” he tuts. “See, little prince, you need someone to take care of you.” Staring Doyoung down, he sucks the juice off his thumb.

Heat flares over Doyoung’s skin, burning through his chest and down into his gut. Once again, he feels bare and he loves it.

“By ‘someone’, do you mean just you?”

Youngho has the nerve to smirk. “Like this? Yeah, just me.”

  


Almost two months pass before Doyoung’s mother corners him at the front gate after he bids his summer lecturer goodbye. He bows his head one last time at the aging man and turns to return to the house only to almost run into her.

She’s holding a glass of red wine, and she sips at it as she looks at Doyoung with one of her thin eyebrows raised.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time outside lately,” she comments.

She’s always quietly analytical — great at reading between the lines.

Doyoung is just better at erasing what’s in those spaces so there’s nothing to read. “I had originally asked you if I could attend the arts and literature seminar for the summer, where I would have spent time touring the museums and doing realism studies in the city parks,” he says, sure to keep his voice that perfect tone between smart and accusatory so as to not make her upset. “I’m spending much less time outside than I hoped to be this season and if I wasn’t terribly bored inside, I wouldn’t be rotting in the yard.”

He isn’t so much bothered about missing the seminar as he was when she initially refused to let him attend when one of his schoolteachers gave him the referral. Sure, he’s read through all of the books he owns front to back and back to front, but he also has a man with a smile that oil pastels or paints will never do justice to and he wouldn’t trade Youngho for any of that. He can catch up when he goes away for university next spring.

“You are not even fond of the sun.”

“And I have not been in it. Is that not what the awnings on the gazebo or the veranda are for?” He blinks slow, stopping himself from rolling his eyes.

“Young Mas— Oh! My apologies.”

Doyoung looks around his mother at the housemaid standing in the doorway to the house. “It is alright.” He smiles at the older woman. “What is it?”

The housemaid looks between Doyoung and his mother who only turns up her nose and sips at her wine. “Your books are still in the parlor room. Would you like me to take them up to your room, Young Master?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll do it myself.” He inclines his head at his mother as he walks around her without another word to enter the house.

  


“You’re bold today, little prince,” Youngho mumbles, lips brushing against Doyoung’s with every word.

Doyoung had dragged him around the side the house where the mulberry trees block the view from the neighboring houses and looped his arms around Youngho’s neck with a quiet request to ‘kiss me.’ Youngho’s hands quickly found the small of Doyoung’s waist and pushed him up against the outer wall of the house but it seems he cannot simply kiss Doyoung without teasing.

Tilting his chin up, Doyoung captures Youngho's lips, impatient. He can feel Youngho smile into it for a brief second before he reciprocates, moving his mouth over Doyoung’s until he catches the boy's bottom lip between his own.

Then the world is spinning a little too fast and Doyoung can do little more than hold on tight as Youngho crowds into him, slipping his tongue past Doyoung’s teeth. He tastes of the lemonade the housemaids left out for him while he worked, just a bit too sweet.

Doyoung has kissed boys before, but none of them have ever made him feel like this before — powerless, devoured, addictive, power _ful_. He feels like the most desirable person in the world to have Youngho’s hands on him but also like he's undeserving of the older man's affections.

"Youngho," he simpers when the hands on the small of his back slide down to cup his rear.

Nipping at Doyoung’s bottom lip, Youngho moves his hands back up. "Sorry."

"No, I--" Doyoung tilts his head back against the wall behind him and tries to fill his lungs with air. He regards Youngho, heat pooling between his legs at the sight of his naturally full lips swollen and ripe and knowing he did that. "I want you to touch me."

Unhooking his arms from around Youngho's neck, he puts his hands over the gardener's and moves them back down to his bottom.

"Are you sure?" Youngho raises a brow, breaking into a smirk when he squeezes Doyoung’s rear and makes the younger boy jump. "Do you even know what you're asking for, little prince?"

He slips his leg in between Doyoung's and pulls on his hips, rocking Doyoung over his thigh and pulling a sharp gasp from him.

"Yes." Doyoung nods, letting out a moan at the slight pressure on the rapidly stiffening organ between his legs when Youngho pulls him forward again. "You’ve haunted my dreams for so long."

Leaning in, Youngho presses his lips against Doyoung’s throat. "My little prince is so naughty," he mumbles, the ticklish sensation of his breath on Doyoung’s neck sending a shiver down his spine. "Tell me what you dreamt about."

If possible, Doyoung’s face flushes even more. "I can't."

"Why not? I'll tell you about all of the lewd things I've thought about you." He kisses up the side of Doyoung’s neck to behind his ear.

"Y-You thought about me?"

Youngho chuckles. "Of course. I've thought of how pink you'd flush laying stripped in bed, of how beautifully you'd fold under me, of how sinful you'd sound taking my cock."

The vulgarity is so unfamiliar to Doyoung who has never had such language directed at him and he's surprised at the way it settles heavily in his stomach. He aches like he's never ached before and he ruts against Youngho's leg again, whining desperately.

"Have you thought about that too, baby? How nice my fingers would feel stretching you open for me? Did you touch yourself there?"

Doyoung shakes his head. "I wanted you to touch me," he says.

Youngho pulls away from his neck and glances toward the open yard where he's supposed to be working right now.

"I only came out here because my mother left to have tea with her friends while father is at work." Doyoung turns Youngho to face him again. "And I already told Mrs. Jung and the maids that they're not needed until my mother returns in the evening," he says.

Youngho lets out a shocked laugh. “You prepared.”

Humming, Doyoung pushes Youngho back and slips away from his cage against the wall. He grabs Youngho’s hand and tugs him along as he walks backward toward the house. “You wouldn’t join me the last time, but today I plan on getting what I want.”

  


Once they make it up the stairs, Youngho sneaks his hands beneath Doyoung’s shirt, fingers warm and ticklish on his stomach, and Doyoung can’t help but let out a giggle.

“We’re just outside the door,” Doyoung puts his hands over Youngho’s, stopping the older boy from getting too adventurous before they get inside his room.

“I’m not doing anything,” claims Youngho, pressing a kiss to Doyoung’s nape.

Letting out another laugh, Doyoung leads them into his bedroom. He blushes lightly at how juvenile it must look with his walls covered in his sketches and more favorite pastel pieces.

“Have you ever done a figure study?” Youngho asks, sparing nothing more than a quick glance around the room before his attention is back on Doyoung’s neck. He presses small kisses that Doyoung feels at the base of his spine.

“A few times at school, yeah.”

Humming, Youngho take his hands out of Doyoung’s shirt and starts working at its buttons. “Nude?”

Watching his shirt fall open slowly, Doyoung leans back against Youngho’s chest and shakes his head. “Would you like to model for me?”

“Am I regal enough for your pen, little prince?”

After the last button is undone, Doyoung shrugs off his shirt and turns around. He cups Youngho’s jaw. “Am I skilled enough to pen such a king?”

A gasp runs from Doyoung’s lips when Youngho paws at the back of his thighs, hoisting him up into the air and bringing him to his bed. Doyoung wonders if he’ll be able to sleep in it after this without constantly being reminded of Youngho hovering over him, eyes dark like an animal rabid with hunger and more wicked than any demon warned against in school.

As much as he looks upon Doyoung like he would faster devour him whole, his fingers on Doyoung’s rib cage are feather light and his mouth on Doyoung’s is deferential. He sucks on Doyoung’s tongue like it’s the sweetest of fruit, nips at his lips like they’re the softest of cakes.

Doyoung burns to show him the same reverence. He wants—

“— _More_ ,” Doyoung finds the breath to say.

Youngho glances down the length of Doyoung’s chest, dances his fingers up to a dusty nipple and rolls it between them. Arching up into the touch, Doyoung tosses his head back with a sharp breath.

“More of what?”

“Young _ho_ ,” Doyoung whines.

“Do _young_ ,” the older mimics. Knocking Doyoung’s legs open with a knee, he settles between them and presses their hips together. “I told you. You have to tell me what you want.”

“ _This_ ,” Doyoung says desperately, shallowing bucking his hips against the stiff shape of Youngho’s erection against his own.

“This?” Youngho repeats like he doesn’t understand. Lip caught between his teeth, he ruts forward, pulling another soft sound from Doyoung who nods. “I don’t know what ‘this’ is. You have to be specific, baby. Say you want me to fuck you.”

Just like earlier, the crass words spark Doyoung’s blood alight. He moans at the feeling of slick leaking from his aching shaft. Even as he tugs at Youngho’s hair, arching against his bigger frame, he shakes his head. “I-I...”

Hand on Doyoung’s stomach, Youngho presses him back down and drops wet kisses along the hill of his collarbones. He brushes his thumb over his nipple again before flattening his tongue over the pert bud. With his free hand, he reaches down and cups Doyoung through his pants, easily figuring out the way his shaft lay and fingering circles around the head.

“Youngho!”

Humming, the older man sucks hard at Doyoung’s chest and scrapes his teeth lightly over the bud. “Say it.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

Youngho chuckles, his warm breath on Doyoung’s damp, sensitive skin making the boy writhe. “You’re so cute.” Sitting up, he tears off his shirt and tosses it to the floor.

There’s museums in the city filled with marble statues of handsome warriors and mythological gods, with sharp jawlines and round noses and chiseled muscle. People marvel at them but none of them come close to Youngho, a man so blessed by the sun and sculpted so fine even likening him to a god wouldn’t be enough.

He can’t help but feel the slightest bit inadequate when Youngho strips them both of the rest of their clothes and Doyoung gets a full view.

He’s seen boys nude before, that’s how he knows he isn’t small, but it seems like every part of Youngho from his smile to his sex is big.

“You have lubricant, right?”

When Doyoung reaches beneath the pillow beside his head and pulls out the bottle, Youngho laughs.

“What? I thought it would be awkward if it was too far out of reach.”

Still chuckling, Youngho shakes his head and takes the bottle. “You want this badly enough you’d make sure everything is calculated but you can’t even say ‘fuck’.”

“I-I _can_ say it.”

Pouring lube over his fingers, Youngho glances up at Doyoung. “Go ahead, then.” He tosses the bottle to the side of them and cups a hand underneath Doyoung’s knee to fold his leg back against his chest.

A wet touch at Doyoung’s entrance makes him jump, makes his heart pound. This is it — what he’s been aching for months to have.

He stares at Youngho with wide eyes, unable to find his voice.

Youngho holds his gaze as he rubs his finger over his hole and presses in slightly, not quite enough to push past the rim. “What do you want me to do, little prince?”

Doyoung’s length spits out another few drops of wetness. “I want you to fu...”

Youngho hums encouragingly.

“...F-Fuck me.”

“As you wish.”

It’s foreign, Youngho’s finger slowly pushing into him. Even when Youngho slots their mouths together and tries to tie his tongue into a knot with his own, Doyoung can’t focus on anything but the feeling of it inching in.

“Are you okay?” Youngho asks, kissing over Doyoung’s red cheeks.

Doyoung nods. “It’s a little uncomfortable but I—“ His mouth draws open in a loud moan when Youngho does something that makes his vision tunnel.

Youngho shushes him, but he doesn’t stop flicking his finger over that one spot and Doyoung tosses his arm over his mouth to muffle the sounds he doesn’t know how to stop. He hopes it’s enough cover for the high whine he makes when Youngho nudges in a second finger.

It aches a little more than the first one, but that doesn’t stop Doyoung’s from enjoying it.

“You’re so enthusiastic,” murmurs Youngho, switching from playing with Doyoung’s prostate to shallow thrusts. “Does it feel good, baby?”

Panting against his arm, Doyoung nods.

“Can you take another one?”

Doyoung pauses to think, squeezing around the digits inside him, and nods again. “Yes...Yes, I can take it.”

Youngho stretches him out with just two for a little longer before pulling out, explaining to Doyoung that he’s wetting his fingers again with a chuckle when the younger boy lets out a noise of confusion.

“If your parents don’t kill me after this and I can see you like this again, I want to see how you’ll like being eaten out,” Youngho says, mostly to himself, as he pets over Doyoung’s hole before pushing in again.

Not realizing he was holding his breath, Doyoung lets out a harsh exhale. “W-What’s that?”

“Take a guess.” Youngho grins. “Hold your leg like this for me?”

He pecks Doyoung’s lips sweetly when the boy obeys his request, then moves down his body until he's eye-level with his blushing, weeping shaft.

"Y-Young-"

Curling his now free hand around Doyoung, Youngho licks a fat stripe up his length and then takes him into his mouth. He flicks his fingers over Doyoung’s spot while he lazily bobs his head.

Grabbing a pillow from overhead, Doyoung holds it over his mouth as he chants the older man's name in between shaky breaths. He writhes, nerves so lit up with pleasure it has him squirming, all but writhing against Youngho's forearm pressing heavy on his stomach.

It doesn't take long before he's feeling the tell-tale butterflies of impending climax. He gets a hand in Youngho's hair and tugs hard.

"I'm clo- Youngho…s-stop!"

Pulling off Doyoung’s sex, Youngho stills his fingers. "You can spend. I don't mind."

"Not yet," Doyoung says, shaking his head. “You haven’t...”

Youngho smiles, so sweet and fond. Slowly, he slips his fingers out. "Of course." Crawling up to the left of Doyoung, he sits with his back against the wall. "Come here." He pats his thighs. "It'll be easier for you if you take me at your own pace."

Rolling onto his knees once he falls back from the edge, Doyoung tosses a leg over Youngho's and settles on his thighs. He eyes the older man's sex, standing at full attention and red in the face. Licking his lips, he pokes at the sticky tip before bringing his finger up to taste.

Watching him, Youngho groans. "It must be a skill to be so lewd when you're this innocent."

Slipping his finger out of his mouth, Doyoung frowns. "I'm not that innocent."

Youngho drags his hands up Doyoung’s thighs, over his hips, and around the small of his back. “It’s not a bad thing. I like the thought of being the first person to have you like this.”

Impassioned, Doyoung cups Youngho’s face and kisses him wholly. He rolls his hips forward, muffling a whimper against Youngho’s lips when his sex brushes against the Youngho’s own. “I want you,” he pleas, pressing his face in the crook of the older man’s neck.

Carding a hand through Doyoung’s hair, Youngho reaches for the lubricant with the other. “You can take as much as you want, little prince.”

Doyoung lets out a gasp when he’s spread open and he feels Youngho slide the head of his sex between his parted cheeks. Lifting his head from Youngho’s neck, he glances over his shoulder at the hand cupping his butt.

“As much as you want,” Youngho repeats.

Sudden nerves make Doyoung tense and, smiling fondly, Youngho softly brushes his lips over the ball of his cheek and down to his mouth.

“Relax. You can take your time.”

Nodding, Doyoung takes a calming breath, bites at the inside of his cheek, and bears his weight down. Like his fingers, the stretch of Youngho doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He feels like the lick of a small candle flame that Doyoung has teased his fingers too close to — a subtle kind of burn that lingers, builds in intensity when he gets too daring but eases when he works around it properly.

A blush high on his cheeks and his eyes trained on where he’s gradually disappearing into the younger boy, Youngho presses the fingers of one hand just above the bone of Doyoung’s hips in a distracting massage. He sighs and licks over his lips, glancing up. “You feeling okay?” he asks once Doyoung is fully seated in his lap, enveloping Doyoung’s length with his free hand and giving it a few tugs.

“Mhm,” hums Doyoung, experimentally rolling his hips in a tight circle. “A-Are you, too?”

“I feel great.” He kisses Doyoung softly, adding on in a murmur against his mouth, “You feel so good stretched around me. So nice and tight and warm.”

“Youngho...” Doyoung whimpers. “ _Please_.”

Leaning back against the wall, Youngho settles his hands on Doyoung’s waist. “You’re in control. Ride me,” he says. “Fuck yourself on my cock.”

Youngho said something about Doyoung being lewd, but Doyoung truly can’t handle the confident vulgarity that so easily drips from Youngho’s tongue, his kiss-swollen lips pulled into a teasing smirk. The words shock a bit of slick from Doyoung’s sex and he’d be surprised if his blush could flare any hotter.

“Go on.”

At Youngho’s wicked smile and light caress on his back, Doyoung plants his hands on Youngho’s shoulders to give himself the leverage to push up on his knees and then sink right back down in Youngho’s lap. He does it again, and again, slowly setting a comfortable rhythm. He wonders if Youngho was telling the truth when he said it’d be easiest like this, because sometimes when Doyoung drops down, Youngho feels so incredibly deep, like he might be hitting organs Doyoung knows anatomically that he can’t be, and as a spoiled, rich boy, he’s never known hunger, but he’s also never felt so full before.

“That’s it,” Youngho says with a groan, teething at his bottom lip. “Just like that. Nice and slow.”

“Do you like it slow?”

Chuckling low, Youngho slides his hands up Doyoung’s back to pull him in. He kisses at the corner of his mouth, down his jaw, and to his neck. “I like it however you wanna take it.” Sucking hard at the boy’s neck, Youngho draws out another needy sound when he slumps down and starts gently thrusting up into Doyoung whenever he comes back down.

Tipping his head back, Doyoung lets Youngho nip and suck at the unblemished skin of his neck. “I’d love for you to do whatever you want to _me_.” His voice strains high as he comes down too hard, taking Youngho all the way to the hilt where he hits that spot that almost unraveled Doyoung completely when Youngho was opening him up with his fingers.

Youngho wraps his arms tight around Doyoung’s midsection and grinds up as if he could go any deeper, groaning out a filthy curse into the column of Doyoung’s neck, and the younger boy all but shouts as electricity buzzes through his veins, hands frantically clutching at the gardener’s back until they disappear into his hair.

“Shit,” Youngho exhales, leaning back to look in Doyoung’s eyes. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

Shaking his head, Doyoung kisses away his worries. “It felt...really good,” he reassures, circling his hips to prove his words.

“Wait.”

Doyoung is surprised when Youngho stops him, blinking down at him in confusion.

“Sorry, but that was rather loud. I just want to make sure no one is coming right now.”

They keep still for a moment, but when Doyoung doesn’t immediately hear anyone calling his name in worry, he figures it’s okay.

“Youngho...” He drags his fingers through the older man’s hair, lightly scratching at his scalp. “I...” Pausing, he teethes at his lip shyly. “I don’t want to be in control. I like it when you do that...when you f-fuck me.”

Youngho laughs and kisses his nose. “Honestly, the cutest.”

Wrinkling his nose, Doyoung gives him a look.

“Then, allow me to take care of you, little prince.”

Doyoung doesn’t care how immature he might look in the moment, nodding enthusiastically. He yelps when Youngho suddenly rolls them over without warning, accidentally pulling at his hair. Youngho pulls out so he can move Doyoung to exactly where he wants him, stuffing a pillow under Doyoung’s hips before grabbing the bottle of lube from within the ruffled sheets.

Fingers wet, Youngho strokes himself while he looks over Doyoung seriously. “If you want me to stop for any reason, please tell me.”

Doyoung nods. He trusts that Youngho wouldn’t do anything to hurt him, especially not purposefully, but he appreciates the concern.

Youngho taps at his knee, mumbling ‘to your chest’, and Doyoung rushes to pull his legs up, wrapping his arms beneath his knees.

“Like this?”

Lining up, Youngho rubs the tip along Doyoung’s entrance. He presses a kiss to the underside of Doyoung’s foot and then he plunges back in, sliding all the way home in one long, slow stroke. He waits for a breath to ask Doyoung if he’s still good, and at the boy’s breathy ‘yeah’ pulls out to thrust back in without missing a beat.

Fingers digging into the sides of his thighs, Doyoung bites down into his lip with no other way to keep himself from moaning aloud as Youngho slips a hand around Doyoung’s sex tucked behind his legs.

“Still okay?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Doyoung gnaws harder on his lip and nods. He has to swallow a whimper when Youngho squeezes around the tip of his sex, the shock of the touch making him tighten up.

Youngho falters, moaning lowly. “Goodness, Doyoung, you’re so fucking perfect.”

Doyoung feels the praise in his chest, heart skipping a couple beats. He manages to shake his head just before Youngho ruts into his core and makes him toss it back against his pillows with a gasp.

“I wish you could see how sinful you look right now.”

Doyoung can’t even imagine it, just the slightest thought enough to make him bashful. He can’t look anything close to as beautiful as Youngho, hair beginning to stick to his face with sweat and red flush as delicate as it is vulgar.

“Can I go a little faster?”

“S-Sure,” Doyoung exhales, nodding again.

Watching the pleasured haze in Youngho’s gaze morph into a shadow so dark it’s as if his eyes are nothing but pupil, drops a heavy pit right in the center of his stomach. He knows what this feeling is — hunger. For the first time, he’s experiencing it for himself and now, looking at Youngho as the gardener drags his gaze down to where their bodies meet and licks his lips, Doyoung knows what a starved man looks like and wonders if he looks the same.

Cursing does not come natural to Doyoung, but when Youngho’s grip on his hips turns rough with greed and he slams hard into Doyoung and just _doesn’t stop_ , a song of expletives dances off his tongue.

“Holy _shit_ , Youngh- Oh, shit... _fuck_ , Youngho. Oh my god.”

If someone told Doyoung, in this moment, that he was actually nothing more than a marionette puppet, he’d believe them. He’s never felt so out of control of his own body — his arms unable to keep hold on his legs that splay open, his hands unable to maintain a grip on the sheets no matter how hard he tries, _him_ unable to keep from writhing until Youngho leans over on his elbows and cages him in, holding Doyoung still with nothing but his weight.

“You’re so loud.” Youngho chuckles, brushing the tip of his nose against Doyoung’s.

“In my defense,” Doyoung bites his tongue to keep back another noise, “you’re making it hard to stay quiet.”

Youngho grins. “Thank you.”

He covers Doyoung’s mouth with his own, tongue warm and wet and curious. Moaning into him, Doyoung wraps his arms around Youngho’s neck and draws him in. Lifting his legs, he locks his ankles behind Youngho’s back and presses on his tailbone with his heels.

He gives himself to Youngho wholly. His body, his heart, his voice, his breath — all of it, free for Youngho to take.

And Youngho takes him fast, then takes him slow...takes him apart until there’s nothing left for anyone else.

Doyoung struggles for air when Youngho slips a hand between them and begins to stroke Doyoung in half-time to his frantic thrusts. He grabs hard at Youngho’s hair and sloppily tries to rock his hips into the touch. Youngho doesn’t give him a second to think about making a sound, kisses so thoroughly Doyoung forgets how to make his tongue form words.

His palms slide over Youngho’s sweat soaked back and Doyoung digs his nails in below his shoulder blades. He’s starting to feel the butterflies gather low in his gut, their rapidly fluttering wings generating so much heat. Tightening his legs, he tries to pull Youngho closer.

Breaking off from his mouth, Youngho rests his forehead on the boy’s own. “Fuck, Doyoung. If you clench like that, I’m gonna...”

Not noticing he had even done that, Doyoung relaxes. Then, realizing that’s not a complaint, he clenches around Youngho’s sex again.

Cursing again, Youngho retaliates by speeding up his hand on Doyoung.

“A-Ah, Youngho, I can’t-“ Doyoung shakes his head wildly. “Only if you...”

“Cum with me?”

“Yes,” Doyoung nods. “Yes, yes, yes, yes, _yes_.”

Youngho ruts into Doyoung faster, haphazardly chasing after his end and Doyoung is back to biting his lip as he feels himself quickly reaching the point of the point of no return.

He hiccups, scratching down Youngho’s back. “Youngho...Y-Youngho, I—“

“It’s okay.” Youngho pecks his forehead. “I’m right there too. Let go, baby.”

He doesn’t even fully finish his sentence before Doyoung buries his face in his chest, lips pressed against his collarbone as he spills into Youngho’s fist.

Youngho only thrusts a couple more times before he follows with a gravelly moan of Doyoung’s name, filling the boy’s hole with his seed.

Worn out, Doyoung unhooks his legs from around Youngho and lets them fall heavily to the bed. He leaves his arms around his shoulders, even when the gardener stops shallowly rocking into him following his orgasm and pushes up to look at Doyoung’s face.

“How are you feeling, little prince?” Youngho asks, pushing Doyoung’s damp hair off his face. His smile is broad, innocent despite his blown pupils and heaving, sweating chest.

Doyoung returns the grin with a shyer smile. A part of him can’t believe he did it, can’t believe he’s no longer a virgin. “Good,” he answers. “I feel good. Thank you.”

“No. I’m glad you gave _me_ the honor of making you feel good.”

Frowning, Doyoung takes his arms back and crosses them over his chest. “Can you stop saying things like that?”

Youngho tilts his head to the side. “Like what?”

“Like you’re not deserving of my affection or something.”

“I don’t mean to bring myself down.” Youngho captures his mouth in a chaste kiss. “You’re just so wonderful, it’s hard to feel like it’s not just a dream.”

That doesn’t make Doyoung frown any less. “I like you.”

Youngho brushes his thumb over Doyoung’s cheek, grin stupidly broad. “I know.”

“I really like you.”

“And I adore you,” he says. “I’ll try not to make it seem like I’m putting myself down.”

“That’s all I ask.” Doyoung tilts his chin up to kiss the older man.

Youngho deepens the kiss for a moment before pulling away and sitting on his heels. He slips out of Doyoung with a quiet sigh and runs his eyes over his handiwork.

Burning hot from embarrassment, Doyoung crosses his hands over his sex and the mess on his stomach.

Youngho snorts. “Let’s get cleaned up. It’d be terrible if we got caught now.”

Feeling Youngho drip out of him as he sits up, Doyoung nods. “Yes, please.”

“I’m surprised you don’t have a towel ready or something,” says Youngho as he moves to slide off the bed. “...since you were so ready for everything else.”

Doyoung reaches out and lands a wet smack on his back, harrumphing at Youngho’s pained noise. “Don’t make fun.”

“I’m not!”

**Author's Note:**

> i originally planned to write more after the last scene, about them continuing their relationship behind the back of doyoung's parents but the smut dragged on for SO LONG that by the time it was over, i just had to tap out like i just needed it to be over lmao. but if you want a continuation just let me know and i’ll be on it. i just need a break lol
> 
> [main twt](https://twitter.com/unflorescent) | [nct au twt](https://twitter.com/tzannii) | [au twt cc](https://curiouscat.me/tzanni)


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